


When The Levee Breaks

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Marvel, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bondage, Crying, Daddy Kink (mild & one-sided), Desperation, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Intersex Loki (Marvel), M/M, Praise Kink, Spanking, Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 13:11:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14402832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: The Grandmaster just won't stop speaking, just won't stop talking, and Loki is shredded to more pieces with every word.





	When The Levee Breaks

“Oh, you can do a little, uh, a little better than that, can’t you, sweetheart?” Loki whimpers. Loki is already bound, his wrists tightly tied at the small of his back, and he tries to spread his knees a little bit wider, his face pressed into the thick and downy pillows that make up the head of the Grandmaster’s bed. His back is a smooth, curved line, his backside traceable down toward his shoulders, and his whole body _aches_ with the effort of holding the position: Loki’s thighs are pained at being spread so widely, his knees clicking with the deep press of them into the mattress, his shoulders burning as they support all his weight, and _why_ , why, must Loki hold this position for so very long?

“Oh, very nice, _very_ pretty,” the Grandmaster purrs, and he draws his fingers over the curve of Loki’s backside in the air, tracing down the length of his spine before gripping tightly at the back of Loki’s neck, and Loki _gasps_ at the hot pain it sends through his aching muscles. “See, Loki? You can be so good if you try.”

“I am trying,” Loki gasps into the silken cover over the pillow, “I am trying, I _am_ , Grandmaster, please—”

“Oh, hush, hush, pretty boy. Listen to Daddy,” the Grandmaster says, and then his hand comes down hard against Loki’s backside, so hard the sound _cracks_ through the air like a gunshot, and Loki is left moaning, pain singing across his skin. Loki’s cunny, his lips spread wide by the position he’s in, is cool under the warm air, and Loki’s cock hangs down, _dripping_ , embarrassing, humiliating, shameful! “You’re so pretty like this. So, _so_ pretty. Anyone ever tell you how pretty you are?” Loki closes his eyes tightly, biting down so hard on his lower lip that it begins to bleed, lilac blood coming thick into the pillow beneath him.

“No,” Loki whispers. Does he say it because it is the answer the Grandmaster wants to hear, or because it’s true? Norns, he’s pathetic for enjoying this, pathetic for feeling the heat that tingles through his entire crotch.

“Anyone ever tell you how _good_ you are?” the Grandmaster asks, and this time when he _smacks_ , the blow doesn’t come against Loki’s buttocks, where fat and muscle alike cushion the blow, but against his cunt. What pain! What agony! What indescribable, inescapable, inevitable pleasure!

“No,” Loki whispers again, and this is the worst of it – he shouldn’t enjoy this as much as he does, shouldn’t enjoy being prodded and pushed into position, shouldn’t enjoy the Grandmaster’s honeyed words in his ear, shouldn’t enjoy the _filthy pain!_

“Anyone ever tell you,” the Grandmaster asks, and now he speaks in the lowest of voices, so low that Loki must strain to hear him, and he feels all of his blood rush _down_ into his head, making him delirious with pleasure, and blood is straining onto the pillow, dripping thick and wet from his mouth. “Anyone ever, ah, _tell_ you, sweet thing, pretty thing, beautiful thing, _good_ thing,” Loki resists the desperate urge to scream, his eyes pricking at their corners, hot with tears, hot! “Anyone ever tell you… you _deserve_ to be worshiped? You deserve my fingers,” the Grandmaster’s fingers, sliding over the wetness between Loki’s legs, diving into the slick folds there, scissoring, stretching, “inside you. You deserve my _mouth_ ,” the Grandmaster’s tongue, tracing the seven lines of Loki’s ribs on his left side, making him squirm, “on your skin. You deserve _this_.”

It shouldn’t affect him. It shouldn’t make his skin hot, and his cock twitch, and his cunt _clench_ – it shouldn’t make Loki’s heart beat ever more powerfully, ever harder, in his chest. The Grandmaster is full to the brim with the ozone tingle of magical power, and he can do whatever he _wants_ to Loki, make him do _anything_ , and yet—

When he says such things.

When he _praises_ Loki so—!

Loki is weak. Loki is weak, and pathetic, and he doesn’t _deserve_ this. He doesn’t deserve such careful attention, such praise, such warmth. “ _Please_ ,” Loki moans, and the Grandmaster’s fingers slip deeper, pressing down, making Loki feel _full_ all at once.

“Please what, honey?” the Grandmaster replies, softly. “Please _what_? Kiss you? Fuck you? Fill you to the brim?”

“Anything,” Loki whispers. “Anything, just… Stop— Stop talking.”

“Stop _talking_?” the Grandmaster’s voice becomes low, and dangerous, and full of darkness, and Loki’s shame is compounded ever more, because now is not just _pathetic_ , and desperate – he is ungrateful. “What, I tell you how lovely you are, and you want me to stop?”

“I can’t,” Loki whispers. “I can’t, please—” Loki cries out as the Grandmaster throws him onto his back, his hands trapped beneath his own weight, the Grandmaster’s hand around his throat., the Grandmaster’s knees between his legs. There’s blood half-thickened and sticky against his chin and his lower lip, and Loki’s eyes are stinging with tears.

“Nobody’s ever _loved_ you like I love you, Loki,” the Grandmaster whispers, his very voice ominous and heavy with unspoken implications, “What, you, uh, you don’t _want_ that? Huh? You want me to cast you to the stars? You don’t wanna be my _favourite_? Because you’re my favourite, Loki… Thirteen billion years, and I’ve never met somebody like you, never _wanted_ somebody like you—”

The levee breaks.

Loki lets out a ragged, desperate sob, and his eyes well up with thick, fat drops of saltwater, the tears sliding down his cheeks, and he lets out ugly moans and whimpers. He is sniffling, snorting – there is snot on his upper lip and _blood_ on his lower one, and Loki feels as if he has been shattered into a thousand pieces at once.

And when it finally passes, the Grandmaster is looking down at him, a _smile_ twisting his lips, and his hands cup Loki’s wet cheeks.

“Oh, I wondered, ha, what it’d take… To make you cry.” Loki stares up at him through lidded, red-rimmed eyes, his tongue a bitter mess of snot, tears, blood— “You’re so pretty, even like this. _Especially_ like this. All mine.” Loki takes in a slow, ragged breath, feeling it hitch in his throat, and then the Grandmaster leans in, his mouth against Loki’s ear. “I’ll do whatever I _want_ to you, Loki. And you’ll take it – you’ll love it. Won’t you?”

 _I don’t want this_ , Loki wants to say. _I don’t want you to fuck me to tears on a whim. I want to go, I should go, please let me go—_ “Yes,” Loki whispers, because he is powerless to say anything else. And the Grandmaster smiles his winsome smile, kisses him on his ugly, messy mouth, and Loki feels himself relent. He gives himself over completely, and lets the Grandmaster have him all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Check out [my Tumblr](http://dictionarywrites.tumblr.com) for more, or if you want to send in a request.


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